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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841016">love; in three declarations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes'>Quecksilver_Eyes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i look at you and there's no speech left in me [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Julie and The Phantoms (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>In Love, M/M, a declaration in three parts, i love these boys, i watched this show three times in a row and im like, in which the boys are soft and in love, so much, the himbo triad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:54:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My loves lie dripping red on a stolen couch, and I've their colours smeared across my skin. Their laughter is tangled in these sheets, and I'm heavy with their lives. There’s a splash of pink across my throat, and a handprint dripping blue on my hips, my leather jacket draped across the back of it all. They’re humming something like poetry – a song, a hymn, a worship, a new crush glittering on Alex’ lips – and here, in this garage, our lives are stretched threefold across this ceiling.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex/Luke Patterson/Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms), Alex/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i look at you and there's no speech left in me [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>157</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>love; in three declarations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I.</p><p>One two three<br/>
               beat<br/>
One two three<br/>
               beat</p><p><strike>Love </strike>Friendship lies this way<br/>
               in your eyes<br/>
               in your drums<br/>
                              and on this stage</p><p>Here we stand<br/>
with this music<br/>
in these lights<br/>
               we’re here, come on and see</p><p>One two three<br/>
               beat<br/>
One two three<br/>
               beat</p><p><strike>My world</strike> The world is contained<br/>
               in here, and now<br/>
               paint me red<br/>
                              paint me pink, my friend</p><p>We’re here, see<br/>
our music and our beat<br/>
hear our voices<br/>
               unbound – loud</p><p>One two three<br/>
               beat<br/>
One two three<br/>
               beat</p><p>Come with me<br/>
into this unlife<br/>
into this un-world<br/>
               come with me through the heat<br/>
               come with me through all time</p><p>
  <strike>And love me.</strike>
</p><p>Be by my side.</p><p> </p><p>– Sunset Curve, “One Two Three”, saved fragmented notes</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>II.</p><p>Reggie is standing in the Molinas’ kitchen, humming something under his breath that might be “Bright” or “Stand Tall”, and Alex wraps his arms around his waist, taps a soft rhythm onto his hipbones. “What are you cooking, dude? – Willie says hi.” He presses a kiss to the back of Reggie’s neck. “He took me to this art auction thing and there was a lot of yelling.” As always, with Willie’s hand in his, and their voices echoed across all that piles up in front of them.</p><p>One-two. Three-four.</p><p>Reggie stops his humming to grin at Alex. “Ray spent the whole day on this youtube thing watching food videos, and I thought I’d try some of them.” He points at one of the pots on the stove. “I’m making strudel, man, and I’m trying not to fuck up the filling.”</p><p>Alex taps his fingers against his side. One-two. Three-and-four. “It smells good. But have you thought about how we’re gonna eat that?”</p><p>Reggie furrows his brows and Alex laughs. Reggie feels warm and alive in his arms, like the soft beat of his low drum, the feeling of Reggie’s bass under his skin. There’s something about touching him, in this kitchen, his lips on Reggie’s skin, the sizzling of that pan, that makes something in his ribcage stutter.</p><p>“I guess I can just leave it in the fridge for Ray”, Reggie says then and drops his head back onto Alex’ shoulder. “I was looking forward to that, damn.”</p><p>Two-and-Three. Four-One. Luke pops in and presses a kiss on each of their cheeks, his laughter high in his throat, and he sticks a finger into Reggie’s cooking. “Looking forward to what?”</p><p>Alex splutters against Reggie’s neck as Reggie reaches for Luke’s hands. “Not you sticking your grimey fingers in my pan, dude”, he says and Luke laughs, still, kisses him as if they were still in the garage, in the afterglow of a show, tangled in one another. Reggie doesn’t let go of his cooking.</p><p>“Aw, bro, I thought you were wooing us.” He smiles, and it stretches all the way across his face, dimpled and rhythmic. “This is really nice.”</p><p>Reggie rolls his eyes. “It’s not done. Be patient, man.”</p><p>Luke leans in and kisses him, and somehow, there’s a beat under Alex’ hands and a microphone between them, their music strung up between them. One-Two-Three. One-Two-Three. He drops a kiss on Reggie’s shoulder.</p><p>Luke poofs onto the kitchen table, dangling his legs, his guitar balanced in his lap, and starts picking at the strings. Reggie throws his head back and starts singing.</p><p>One-and-Two.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>III.</p><p>My loves lie dripping red on a stolen couch, and I've their colours smeared across my skin. Their laughter is tangled in these sheets, and I'm heavy with their lives. There’s a splash of pink across my throat, and a handprint dripping blue on my hips, my leather jacket draped across the back of it all. They’re humming something like poetry – a song, a hymn, a worship, a new crush glittering on Alex’ lips – and here, in this garage, our lives are stretched threefold across this ceiling.</p><p>There’s a sketchbook balanced on Luke’s lap, and Alex’ hands tapping at his sides, and sometimes, in the mornings, when we stand under the shower – paint and life stained and singing – I forget how to breathe. Sometimes, Luke smiles and strums his guitar with soft, tender hands, and there’s a kiss caught between us and the microphone. Sometimes, Alex taps his drums and sings with all our lives in his mouth, and my heart drops into the space between us.</p><p>Sometimes, after a set, we are splashed with colour and laughter.</p><p>Sometimes, standing on a stage with nothing but our music holding us up, I reach for them.</p><p> </p><p>My loves lie dripping red on this stolen couch, see, and it’s all I can do but tangle myself with them. Luke writes music in between one breath and another, a hum on his lips and his eyes big enough for the world to settle into it. Alex has a beat caught in his ribcage, the thrum of it against my skin, and music holds us tethered.</p><p>Luke cuts the arms out of his shirts and the world out of his life with a laugh and paper scissors, and Alex beats his anxiety in a steady rhythm onto his drums, like a cadence. Like all that sits in our throats, fluttering in our songs. They smile and I ache and they speak and I ache and they kiss me, and I <em>ache.</em></p><p>Alex’ pink is smeared across my ribcage and settled on my shoulders, and Luke has painted his blue on my jaw, my stomach, my arms, and I sing to the beat of Alex’ anxiety and Luke’s homesickness. There’s something soft hidden underneath all our instruments and behind all our teeth, and somewhere, in a future – breathless – I get to kiss them on stage.</p><p>My loves stand bathed in this spotlight and my bass thrums underneath my fingertips, in pinks and blues.</p>
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